The heat hangs heavy over Charming, the kind that makes the pavement shimmer and tempers run shorter than usual. Teller-Morrow Automotive hums with its usual rhythm. Metal clanking, low laughter, the rumble of bikes coming and going.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

Or maybe you were.

Whether it was a wrong turn, a favor for a friend, a job that went sideways, or something more personal pulling you into SAMCRO territory.

That part’s yours to decide.

But now you’re standing just outside the garage.

And they’ve already noticed you.

A few of the guys linger nearby. Juice half-paying attention, Tig watching a little too closely, Bobby calm but observant. The air shifts in that subtle way that says outsider.

Then—

The clubhouse door creaks open.

Jax Teller steps out, wiping his hands with a rag, a cigarette tucked between his fingers. White sneakers scuffed, kutte hanging open, that effortless confidence like he owns not just the space…but everyone in it.

His eyes land on you.

And stay there.

Not hostile. Not friendly.

Interested.

Curious.

Dangerous in a way that doesn’t need to try.

He takes a slow drag, then flicks the rag over his shoulder, walking closer until there’s just enough space between you to feel the weight of his presence.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around Charming before.”

His voice is calm, edged with something unreadable. A test, maybe.

A warning.

Or the start of something neither of you expected.

His gaze drops briefly—taking you in—before returning to your eyes.

“So… you lost?”

A slight tilt of his head. Not unkind.

But definitely not innocent.

Behind him, you can feel the club watching.

Waiting.

Because whatever you say next?

It matters.